Chapter 18
Amber stood over the trash can longer than she needed to.
The paper was folded once, creased down the center where she'd already read it too many times. The culinary institute's logo sat at the top—clean, formal, impossible to mistake for anything else.
Acceptance Confirmed.
Accelerated Track.
Waitress to line cook.
Line cook to sous chef.
If she stayed long enough—chef.
A straight line.
Finally.
She unfolded the paper, read the first sentence again, then tore it in half. Then again. Smaller pieces this time, until the words stopped looking like words.
She dropped them into the trash.
"Sorry," she said quietly. "I can't give up on this."
She didn't specify what this was.
The call to the law firm was shorter than she expected.
Alicia didn't ask her how she was feeling. Didn't lower her voice. Didn't say thank you.
She listened.
Then she said, "Email me exactly what happened. Start from the moment you noticed him."
No guidance.
No reassurance.
Just instruction.
Amber wrote it all out in one sitting. The punch. The floor. The manager. The way the room tilted. She didn't edit herself. Didn't soften anything.
She hit send.
later the same day , her phone rang.
"This is protocol," the voice on the other end said. "If you're giving an official statement, you'll need to come down to the precinct."
Amber hesitated. "I already wrote—"
"Only official records work in court," the officer cut in. "Emails to private firms don't count."
The line went dead before she could ask anything else.
The interview room was smaller than she expected.
Two officers sat across from her. One took notes. The other watched her mouth more than her eyes.
They started politely enough.
"What time did you arrive at work?"
She answered.
"Was he already intoxicated when you first noticed him?"
"Yes."
"And when did he strike your coworker?"
She began to explain, but the next question came before she finished.
"So you didn't see the punch clearly?"
"No—that's not what I said—"
"Please answer the question," the note-taker said without looking up.
They moved like that the entire time. Questions layered over answers. Interruptions timed perfectly, cutting her off just as she reached the important part.
"Did anyone provoke him?"
"No."
"So there was verbal escalation?"
Her thoughts started tripping over each other.
"Yes—no—he was talking, but—"
"Please keep your answers concise."
She tried. She really did.
At some point she realized she was correcting herself more than she was telling the story.
One of the officers stood.
"Stay seated," he said, already walking out.
The door closed.
Amber stared at the table. The scratches carved into it. The faint outline of something burned into the laminate years ago and never cleaned properly.
When the officer returned, he wasn't holding a notebook.
He was holding cuffs.
"Stand up," he said.
Her chair scraped loudly as she did.
"Hands behind your back."
Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.
The cuffs closed with a sound that was too small for what it meant.
"You're under arrest for providing false information to law enforcement. you have the right to remain silent . An attorney will be provided for you "